'hawks and Shiraz

     
        I'm swigging my Shiraz directly from the bottle this evening.
        Usually I have a wine glass, but they are upstairs. I am downstairs. 'nuff said.
        So, Bipolar: Discuss.

       I propose that all parents of teenagers are bipolar.
       Even those with perfect children. Perfect, pretty, sporty, A+ delights that make you proud at every turn and bring you joy when they wake every morning. They are still making you bipolar, because you don't want to disturb the perfect with reality and trying to achieve the balance will ultimately make you talk to yourself, question your life, lose sleep, flip channels compulsively and write or create maniacally at odd hours.
      And possibly swig your Shiraz directly from the bottle.
      I do not buy the perfect household/idyllic child model. This makes my household brutally honest, and some people don't dig that.  Whatever. I've seen the truth: I'm a teacher. Please. Even the smart ones, the talented ones, the quiet ones and the popular ones Have Issues. They may be cleverly masked or even sprinkled with delightful quirks, but they are there. And I talk to their parents, and I know that the traits I find charming are the ones that drive their parents battty. Or more appropriately, drive their  parents to Bipolar behavior.

      Some of us have children that are more challenging. Some of us have children who are Just Like We Were. But different. The difference being that I--we--never actually acted on these traits. As a bipolar child I just thought I was crazy so I kept the behavior hidden and joined theatre.
       And if you'd like to exacerbate the situation, have your child attend the same high school you teach at and be an active member of your theatre department.
       Right there you have a recipe for something atomic.
       I have no doubt  that other teachers with kids in their departments---band, social studies, math, science---have their own struggles. But theatre---dude, by nature a theatre kid is unhinged somehow some way.And in my department, I'm the one they come unhinged to when they hit the "Get out of my room mom you don't understand" days.
         They come to me when they think their parents don't understand.
          And my daughter, who is also my theatre student, is supposed to go...who?
          Insert Atomic Detonation At My House Here.
         AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaannnnnnnnnnnad welcome to bipolar, passive aggressive but angry Crazy Town! Hop on board! Spit in the wind!
  
        And the roller coaster takes off and sometimes we don't strap in, and sometimes I soccer arm them in and sometimes they hope I go flying out, and always Jim is standing by the off switch ready to throw it at any moment...and then the metaphor just gets boring.

       I was not raised in a house that hugged or kissed or said "I love you". We also were spanked, mom cleaned like a mad woman and my father was distant. So of course I chose the opposite--we are a hugging kissing I LOVE YOU house of clowns, and I'm a terrible housekeeper, which is apparently too much and annoying, mom. As a LIBRA I have balance issues, so when I try to do fix the balance I inevitably throw something off, somewhere else, because I'm also a control freak.
       I could just give up. Walk away. Put up the hawk (which is a metaphor now for a reality then) and fight to the death.
       Nahhh...LIBRA. Remember? 'hawk or not, the fight is about maintaining balance and fairness.
       It doesn't help that my oldest has a lawyer's gift for seeing around corners and picking apart any agreement and my youngest a gift for maniuplation.

      But you know what outweighs that crap? They are good people. Compassionate. They make stupid choices and fight and drive me to swigging from the yellow tail bottle, but I Love Them and the fire, the fight, the compassion, the intellect are what are going to make them stellar adults. Sure they're a mess now, who isn't in high school? They just aren't interested in hiding it. Ok. Their choice.

      They are going to be stellar human beings.

      While I remain bipolar, snuggling with a kangaroo bottle while watching Caddyshack and saying the lines along with Rodney Dangerfield.